


In my Memory Locked

by SAValentine



Series: Crawl Out Through the Fallout [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Courier (Fallout), Blood and Gore, Brain Damage, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender-Neutral Courier (Fallout), Genderqueer Character, Gun Violence, M/M, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Night Terrors, Other, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Past Violence, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SAValentine/pseuds/SAValentine
Summary: "Tis in my memory locked, and you yourself shall keep the key of it."It's funny that the Courier's first memory seemed to be of getting shot in the head. Everything else is just an empty darkness. So they go chasing after the only clue they have to who they were and why they'd ended up in a shallow grave, despite that their mind is screaming at them to just get out of the Mojave and accept the fresh start.





	1. What's In A Name

"Can you tell me your name?" 

Everything was heavy, and aching as I sat up on a bed I didn't know, eyes adjusting on the sight of the man sitting in the chair next to me. Speaking to me. 'Out cold', he told me. But what...? The memory flickered across my vision briefly. A gun. Dirt covering me. I frowned, shivering, and focused on what the man had asked. A name. My name. Everything before that hill was dark. Gone. No solid memory of what people had called me. No parent calling out a name with either love or scorn. No lover crying out it out while they twisted in the sheets. No friends with voices full of laughter. No enemies with voices full of hate. Nothing. 

But when I opened my mouth, a name fell out, thick and heavy. 

The name was poison, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

But it must be mine since it came with a sense of recognition: as bitter as it was. Of someone's voice calling me that, laughter and pride in it. A hand on my shoulder, telling me that I'd done a good job. Inviting me out to drinks, and -- 

"Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name."

**This. Wasn't. Right.**

The words were practically a chant in my mind as I stared at the man - Doc Mitchell - as he explained how I had ended up here.

Part of it, at least. What he knew. My mind was racing over what he was telling me and something, something was missing. Why had those men gone after me? A courier, the Doc said. And the delivery order from the Mojave express only confirmed that. With my name signed across the bottom, the signature a messy scrawl. But the name was clear.

But I didn't remember it. It still felt wrong. 

All I remembered was kneeling in front of a man in a checkered suit, hands bound. Pulling a chip out of his jacket pocket, talking to me, before pointing his gun at me. The blast, the pain. I winced. 

Funny that my first memory seemed to be of getting shot in the head.

Brain damage, he explained. As if that should clear everything up. Sure, it answered why I didn't remember. But I needed to know why the man had killed me. Well, tried to kill me. Left me buried in a shallow grave only to be fished out by a robot and patched up by a stranger. He asked me if my face looked right and I didn't even know what to say. Instead, I just nodded numbly. 

I did everything numbly, just as he instructed, moving through a thick haze. Then he sent me on my way. He gave me a chance to get dressed in a vault suit and some leather armor. None of the weapons really felt right in my hands, but I settled on the shotgun, with a knife on my waist. They felt the closest. The grip familiar, but the weight was wrong. These weren't my weapons, not really. That begged the question of why I had these instead of whatever my own weapons had been. 

How much of my stuff had been taken by whoever had tried to kill me? Another question without an answer.

I left his house, and in the bright sun of the Mojave, I wasn't left with much. Rumors. Whispers. Trails. I didn't even know whether I should bother finding out. Some part of me was screaming to just run. Leave this desert and never come back. Forget about whoever had tried to kill me. Leave that name and whatever past I had once had behind. It was a fresh start. Almost.

Something in my gut said that it wouldn't be that easy, though. If someone wanted me dead, it might come back to haunt me. Sooner or later. I'd have to go pretty far just to avoid the whole thing entirely, after all. Maybe stay here and figure things out first. Sleep on it. That seemed like a good enough plan. 

With a sigh, I adjusted the Pip-Boy on my wrist. A strange, familiar weight, adjusting the settings easily until it sat at something more agreeable. The music came lightly out of the device and I nodded to myself, setting to find this 'Sunny Smiles' the Doc mentioned. Her name sounded even stranger than mine.

But who was I to judge? A courier named Hermes. It was some kind of sick joke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the Courier will be in 1st person. Everyone else will be 3rd limited.  
> I'm waiting until the actual characters are introduced to add which ships are going to be included.


	2. Cry Havoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt."  
> Whether it deserved its fate or not didn't matter much to me. It was just a stop on my way to New Vegas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes: Gore, talk of violence.

 

The figure approached the town from the East, following the road. They had certainly run into the lottery 'winner', having entered from that direction. And their cautious pace only served to confirm it. Their shotgun in their hands, slung low. Apprehensive, but not yet aggressive. They disappeared behind the general store building and Vulpes decided that perhaps they could use this new arrival. 

 It would be foolish to just rely on the lottery winner to ensure that word got out. The man hadn't seemed very intelligent in the first place. He motioned towards his men and they made their way down the stairs and out of the town hall. He couldn't stop the sneer on his lips as he stepped over one of the filthy profligates -- this one had let his daughter die, even as she pleaded for help. He hadn't even had the dignity to look at her during any of it.

 And these degenerates claimed to actually care about their women. 

 As they stepped out into the town, they found the figure standing below one of the crucified, looking up at the man. The noise of the doors made them look over, and their shotgun returned to its place cradled in both hands. The stranger stood there for a moment and watched.

 His men fanned out from the stairs, standing on either side of the doors and the crucifixes stationed there. He stood before the town hall and waited. Watchful. Observing. The stranger had barely turned towards them, and even from this distance, he could see the tension in their body as they waited. He took the time to take an assessment of them. How likely they might be to survive in the wasteland. 

 Their clothes were common, that of a mercenary, their entire body covered with layers of clothing and armor, with a bandoleer strapped across their chest. Even their face was hidden from view, nothing visible on them save for their fingers and the area around their eyes not covered by sunglasses. Most who lived in the dry heat of the desert chose to wear far less, including those in the Legion.

 He could feel it when their eyes finally settled on him; the weight of their own appraisal. He held no weapons, his hands relaxed at his sides. Waiting. He had no intent to attack this one. Yet. He made that clear. 

 After a moment, the figure gave a shrug and turned fully towards him, their gun still held ready, but the muzzle pointed at the ground. And they walked towards him with strides that were both careful and assured. He stepped forward to meet them and was surprised when they spoke first.

 "Maybe it's just because I don't remember ever playing the lottery, but last I knew, it involved less death." Their voice came out barely muffled through the scarf across their face, but he could hear the humor in their voice. He returned it with his own.

 "Don't worry, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates." A pause, and he made the choice then, his posture relaxed as he spoke. "It's useful that you happened by. I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail. and then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Caeser's Legion taught here Especially any NCR troops you come across."

 The stranger paused a beat, and he could see the rise of their eyebrow before they spoke, their tone full of wry question. 

 "And what 'lessons' did you teach these people?" 

 "Where to begin? That they are weak and we are strong? This much was known already." He scoffed, gesturing towards the crucifixes vaguely before he continued. "But the depths of their sickness, their... dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson."

 The figure moved their head to look at the crucifixes on either side of him, studying them slowly. 

 "What does that mean, exactly?" Their words sounded measured. Fear, perhaps. That was good. Fear in their telling of the story would serve Caeser well.

 "Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion, such as myself, the people here didn't care." He explained, his face and his voice impassive. Judgment had already been passed and he held no emotions towards the deed. It was justice. "It was a town of whores. For a pittance, they agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when I sprang it did they realize they were caught inside it too."

 "You captured everyone?" Again they shifted their gaze, focusing on him as they asked, though their body remained in place, remaining like a coil ready to spring. 

 "Yes, and herded them to the center of town. I told them their sins, the foremost being disloyalty. I told them that when legionnaires were disloyal, some are punished, the others made to watch. And I announced the lottery." He could not keep the contempt from his voice at this part of the telling, the slight sneer on his face no doubt highlighting it. "Each clutched his ticket, hoping it would set his free. Each did nothing, even when his 'loved ones' were dragged away to be killed."

 "Cowards." The stranger muttered, and he could hear the matching sneer in their voice. Their head traveled to look above him, to the sign that read 'Nipton Town Hall' before settling back on his face. "It is certainly a tidy view. There is no grey to it. I admire the purity of the Legion's justice."

 "It has a stark beauty, doesn't it? I'm glad you can appreciate it." He smirked at their words, taking another moment to appraise them once more. A dissolute, to be certain, but perhaps someone that could be recruited. Though he was unsure where they would fall within Leigion ranks. A thought for another time. His next words held the tone of his command as he gave them their orders. "Now go and teach them what you learned here. There will be more lessons in the days ahead."

 Without another word, he turned, motioning for his men to follow him. The figure didn't move to let his men pass, but neither did they stop any of them. Instead, he could feel their eyes on them, and, after a moment, his men in a line behind him, he heard them speak quietly, words likely meant only for themself. 

 "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war." It gave him pause, but he didn't look back and he didn't stop. Those words rang so close to things that Caeser had said. He'd called Vulpes his dog of war once. It made him wonder if this was their first time coming across Caeser's legion. 

 

* * *

 

I should have been horrified as I stared down at the man sitting in front of me. I listened to him recount what each "winner" of the lottery received. And what each loser received. It was barbaric. Senseless. Terrible.

 But I only felt annoyed at the man for the stream of insults thrown my way as he spoke. He was a Powder Ganger. I'd already killed most of their men and he was lucky to be alive as it was. And he was speaking to me as if I should be trying to fix him, to make him better. 

I had agreed to give him Med-X in exchange for the information, though. So as he finished, I took out the syringe and drove the needle into his thigh. He let out a shout of pain and I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. I left it there for him to inject himself, tossing another one unto his lap before I left him to his fate. 

If the Legion had seen fit to leave him in such a state, who was I to argue?

I left the store and made my way towards the town hall. The knowledge that I should absolutely be horrified struck me again as I saw men - still alive - hung from crosses, their arms held wide. I examined them as I walked, slowly, stopping in front of them one by one to examine them. Their faces contorted in pain, barely even registering my presence.

One, the last one, closest to the building, turned his gaze towards me and began to moan, expression pleading. He was begging me. To let him down, or to kill him, I couldn't tell. They amounted to the same thing, in the end. The guy wouldn't survive either way. I stared up at the pain on his face, his body weakly writhing in pain. And I couldn't bring myself to feel anything. No pity, no sympathy, no disgust, no horror. I was just staring at him impassively like he was someone's art piece. 

I didn't get time to dwell on what it might mean, a noise from the building to my left drew my attention and I readied my shotgun. I didn't know yet if they were friend or foe, but I wasn't about to get taken by surprise either way. Whether I'd have to run or fight.

 I felt like a radstag [whatever that is] standing there, frozen in their gaze as they spread out in front of the building. I weighed my options, checking my escape routes. The best option was behind the crucifix that I had been looking at. There was a house, and I could duck to the right of it, run behind it, keep the next house as cover. Whether I run or just shoot, that would depend on a few things. The dogs were the biggest issue. 

 I could outrun the men, probably. Maybe. Three of them had guns, which would be a problem, but the cover would take care of that. The dogs would still be able to catch me. Trying for a 'fair fight' wouldn't be. With an unfamiliar weapon in my hands, I couldn't take out all of them before they overwhelmed me. 

 The odds didn't look good. So I guess it was a good thing that the man standing in the center of them did not seem eager to attack. He almost looked relaxed. He didn't even have a weapon in his hands. Their leader, probably. The Dog's head hood made him stand out among the others. 

 Might as well see if I can get out of this without a fight. I wasn't their enemy, after all. [Was I?] I started off with a joke. I mean, it was true. I don't think I've played any Lottery before. Don't think I will after this. Just in case. Then he told me what happened. How they'd rounded everyone up, killed them. It filled in the blanks the Powder Ganger had left. 

 The horror and disgust still didn't come, though. I could only stare impassively at the scene. [Had I always been so cold?] I spent more time pushing away the pleasant shiver that ran up my spine at the sound of his voice than I did thinking about the moral implications of these men's actions.

 I did agree that these people were cowardly for how they handled this whole... Lottery business, but I couldn't say I would have been any more loyal. I just know I wouldn't have been as patient. He finished his story, and the group turned to leave. It was definitely a relief to talk my way out of it. 

 And words that I wasn't sure the source of slipped from my mouth, quiet, but almost practiced. "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war."

 Somehow those words were familiar to me, though I couldn't say where they'd come from. At least it was fitting, with the mongrels and the man's hood giving that imagery. I stood there, watching as they walked away before I turned my attention to the Town Hall. 

 Might as well check out what they'd left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's not meant to be a direct narrative, there are going to be swaths that are missing. I'm focusing on the scenes that are important to the character and stuff that isn't covered in the game to explain some canon-divergence.


	3. Basilisk Unto Mine Eye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to have someone watching your back. Even if they don't talk much, and have a stony attitude, and different priorities. It sometimes makes it easier to sleep. Or at least deal with what happens in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes: violence, gore, parasomnia

 "What did you want me to see here, sweetie?" Jeannie May asked. I had to struggle to keep my smile looking genuine. [God, don't call me 'Sweetie'.]

"Oh just over there, at the edge of the bridge? Do you see that?" She turned to squint out and I took a step back, taking the man's beret out of my back pocket and putting it on my head. I barely had the time to take another step back before the shot went off and the woman's head exploded. I flinched as brain and bone and blood splattered across me.

Gross. [Couldn't he have waited until I stepped further back?]

I took the beret back off, waving it at him before squatting over the body. I wiped my face off on the edge of her dress [she was dead, she wouldn't care]. I checked her pockets and pulled out the safe key. I was going to see if there was anything good before I talked to him.

I hoped that he was right and that no one would even notice enough to confront either of us. [Well, to confront me. I don't care what they did to him.]

I squatted to check the safe, slipping in the old woman's key to open it. God, she had been such an annoying woman. [Maybe I should have pretended to find out who had set his wife up?] The key clicked and I lifted the door. Inside was two bottles of wine, a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla [which I cracked that one open right away], some pre-war money, some bottle caps, and a slip of paper. I stuffed everything into my bag except the paper. I held it up to read, standing and made my way back out of the check-in building.

I found the proof I should've had before dragging her out in front of the dinosaur.

 **Shit**.

Well. I chose well, at least.

Damn. His wife had been pregnant too. Shit. This lady did deserve to die. What the hell.

I made my way back into the Dinosaur and up the stairs where Boone was waiting. When I opened the door, he turned to face me. He looked... Sad? Angry? I'm not sure. He was training his expression to neutral as best as he could, but it wasn't perfect.

"That's it, then. How'd you know?" Part of me wanted to tell him that she had annoyed me and I'd wanted the excuse. I mean, it was the truth. But he didn't seem like he'd like that.

Instead, I waved the piece of paper at him. "Bill of Sale."

He took it from me and read it over. I politely looked away, trying to give him some space to grieve. [Had he know about the pregnancy?] He growled under his breath and I heard the crumpling of paper.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She never liked Carla." He stuffed it into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of caps, handing it to me. "Here, it's all I can give. I guess our dealings are done here."

"What will you do now?" I took the bag and rifled my finger through it, not really counting, but just giving him a little more time to clear his face if he needed it.

"I don't know. I won't be staying. I don't see much point in doing anything except hunting Legionaries. Maybe I'll wander. Like you." I tilted my head up at him when he spoke, and stared at him for a moment, sizing him up.

"Why don't you join me?" I stuffed the bag into the pocket of my Duster and crossed my arms over my chest as I spoke. "I'm liable to run into a lot of them, we can kill some Legion."

"You don't want to do that." I raised my eyebrow at that. [Let go of the tough guy act.]

"Why not? We'll kill more with two of us. And it's always good to have someone watching your back out there." He actually considered it for a moment before he nodded.

"Yea, that might be true. And that is reason enough for me to take you up on it, I suppose. But this isn't going to end well. Fine, we can leave in the morning." I grinned at him and turned to go back into the Dinosaur. I'd get some sleep and he could finish his shift. It was a good plan.

 

* * *

 

"Why are we helping them?" He asked, his rifle out and ready for trouble as they made their way back from Old Lady Gibson's Scrapyard.

"Manny asked if I'd check the area out," Hermes stated very matter of factly, barely glancing at him as they made their way back to the REPCONN test site. He thought the ghouls were insane.

"That doesn't answer my question." His tone was flat. They could be doing better things. They were supposed to be killing Legion. He'd much rather be doing that.

"Why not help the ghouls? They wanna go to space, they can try. Besides, they're offering caps for it." The words were so flat and bored that he glanced over, his expression hard.

"Willing to do anything for caps?" Something he had wondered since the thing with Jeannie May. It hadn't been long between asking about it and lining up a shot. He'd wondered if she really was the right person. She hadn't been too friendly with Carla, but... Of course, the Bill of Sale afterward proved it.

"No, but when you crawl out of the ground with nothing but the shirt on your back... Getting caps is important to things like, say, eating. And getting better gear." He winced. That's right. It did make a difference. The Courier hadn't woken up with much. No caps, no gear. They'd been over that with their earlier discussion.

He didn't respond to that. It was a good point and he felt a little guilty. Hermes told him about that when they'd made their way to REPCONN. And he couldn't really imagine waking up with no memory except that someone had tried to kill you. There was a long silence that stretched out between them as they make the trek. Eventually Hermes stopped and turned towards him.

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm gonna make that clear here." There was another stretch of silence, filled with a defensive silence. "I know I said we're gonna kill some Legion, and that sounds good. But I need to figure out who the fuck I am and what the fuck happened to me. Your friend Manny said he'd give me some info if I took care of this, so I'm taking care of it, okay?"

Boone nodded. If Manny had asked for someone to look into this, it was a good idea to do so. And if the information was being held as a reward, of course it would be important. He sighed.

"You're right." Neither of them said anything else on the trip back to REPCONN. They didn't need to.

 

* * *

 

I was tired. I was so, so tired. We had been running around doing chores for the ghouls for nearly two days, and then we'd helped them launch themselves into the sky. Probably to their deaths. I didn't know. Maybe they'd make it into space, who knows? We'd spent a lot of time running around helping the Ghouls. Two days worth of it. I was fucking tired.

And I don't know why I even bothered trying to help them. Especially since they'd manipulated that guy into doing all their science and been fully willing to release the feral ghouls unto others. They even got upset at me for killing them.

The research lab at the REPCONN test site was the best place we could sleep for the night. At least that was what I thought. Boone was making another round through the secured area as if something would pop up. When he stepped into the room, I sighed at him. Audibly.

"Look. This place is secure. Can you just relax? Even if we hadn't locked the only door to the outside, people aren't going to think to come here to attack. Especially with the recent ferals." I tried to tell him, and he frowned at me. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Take the bed and get some sleep." It was almost an order. It made me tense up, but I decided to ignore it. It wasn't worth it to argue with him right now. If he wanted to keep pacing, then it wasn't my problem.

I took out my sleeping bag, put it on the bed, slipped inside, and tried to fall asleep to the whir of the machines.

_It was warm and quiet._

_The air is eggs and copper and bleach._

_I'd done it. I'd made it out._

_Then a scream._

_Panic._

_Fear._

_Pain._

_Blood._

_On my hand, my stomach._

_There was a monster in front of me._

_I lined up my gun and._

_The smell of gunpowder._

_Another scream._

_My gun ran out._

_I was being lifted up, shaken._

_I grabbed my knife._

_It dug into skin, tearing._

_There was a weight on top of me._

_I could smell shit and blood and something else._

_I could feel the warm liquid on my stomach and my legs._

_I reached for something._

_Screaming._

I felt arms around me, holding my arms down to my sides. I kicked and strained. No no no. This couldn't be happening. I had to get out. I wasn't going to die. Not like this. I just had to grab my knife. I could almost reach it -- It wasn't there.

I was screaming and I kicked backward, driving my heel into a leg. I fell back to the floor and scrambled away. I had to get out of here. I ran for the door. [I wasn't outside.] And down the hall, looking for a way out. Doors lined the walls. I tore one open at the end of it and ran in, jumping to the right.

I heard footsteps. I crawled along the floor, moving away from the noise.

There was someone at the door. They didn't come in. There weren't any other doors. I had to figure out how to get past them.

"Hermes. It's okay. You're safe."

[Who was Hermes?]

I crawled towards the corner, hid under the desk. Quiet. Quiet. I couldn't be found.

"I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

A couple footsteps. The door closed. The weight of a body hit the ground and the door creaked. I was trapped. Without my weapons. Without a way out.

"I'll watch out for anything that might come this way."

Someone... Someone on watch. Yeah. That. That sounded like a good idea.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, pulling them close to me, hiding under the desk.

And waited. Neither of us moved for a long time, and soon the only noise was us breathing and the whir of the machines. And my heart stopped beating a drum against my chest. [When had it started?] Boone was still by the door. I didn't really remember how I got there, but I was curled under a desk and I felt terrible. Ashamed. Exhausted. Sick.

"I'm sorry Boone." I don't know if he even heard me. But I heard footsteps and soon boots appeared in my line of sight. Then he squatted down so he could see me.

"It happens." His response was short and matter of fact and he held out a hand to me. "Come on."

 

* * *

 

Boone slumped into the chair, his rifle across his lap. Hermes was right, he should get some sleep. The location was safe. He just couldn't get past the feeling that something bad was going to happen. He wasn't sure if the place just creeped him out or if it was something else, but he couldn't relax.

He sighed, and moved towards one of the tables and began pulling his rifle apart. It was a habit he'd learned while he'd been on active duty. He'd clean his rifle to clear his mind. It was important to keep it clean, especially in the Mojave.

Pulling out his tools, he followed through the motions without much thought. Wipe it down, brush the bore of the barrel, clear out the the slide and spring. He didn't need to bother with the magazine this time. Push the jag through the barrel. Then reassemble.

When he finished, he found that it hadn't made too much difference in his mood. So he went back to the room that the Courier was sitting in and picked up the weapons dropped next to the bed. He assessed them: Shotgun, pistol, knife. The pistol was the only one in decent shape. The shotgun was terrible. No wonder most shots spread too much. He shook his head and brought them to the table where he'd cleaned his own weapon and started.

The shotgun barrel needed the most work, and since he was the least familiar with that weapon, it took longer than the rest. But he still cleaned it. It was when he was sharpening the knife with a whetstone that something happened.

There was a noise. The sound of someone struggling in their sleeping bag. Then screaming. Had someone gotten in and attacked? He rushed over, dropping the knife on the tabletop, and grabbing his rifle. The screaming continued. Filled with terror and desperation. The screams of someone dying. He hurried and practically skidded into the room. But there were no attackers. At least not any he could see. Not any real ones.

Hermes struggled in the sleeping bag, kicking it off and flailing for dear life. He'd seen it before. NCR soldiers would get this way sometimes when they had been in too many actual combat situations. Even a lot of those who just patrolled the more dangerous areas.

Add to that a recent brush with death and a complete loss of memory and traumatic dreams seemed like they'd be normal. Had this happened before? Alone in the Wasteland with no one to keep watch until it passed? It was definitely dangerous. He had to hope that it was only because of the comfortable bed. Or the stress of this mission. He shouldn't interfere right now. Touch could often make things worse.

Except... Hermes stumbled out of the bed, knocking into the edge of it and began to scramble away. This was worse. Dangerous. Someone sleepwalking during a night terror could easily lead to injuries. Especially in a place like this. It wasn't the smart thing to do, but he had to do something to keep that from happening. He bolted to follow, wrapping his arms around the smaller figure, arms pinned down to keep the struggling to do more damage.

Screaming, desperate once again. And then a kick to his shin and his grip loosened at the pain. Hermes ran, bolting down the hallway and he followed. He didn't have his gun anymore and he had to keep as much of a non-threatening presence as possible.

Down the hall, he found where the Courier must have gone. The door was open despite that he knew he'd closed it and he could hear the scrabbling from inside.

He stood in the doorway and called out. "Hermes. It's okay. You're safe."

No reply. He waited for a beat, listening for any noise. He could only hear breathing. Must have been intent on staying hidden.

"I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

Nothing once again. He sighed and stepped in. This was one of the rooms with fewer potential dangers if it got worse. And the only entrance was the one he stood at. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the door, sinking down to sit.

"I'll watch out for anything that might come this way."

He didn't expect an answer this time. But he heard a small, quiet sob and knew it had to be a bad one. He didn't know if Hermes even remember any of this later. Some people didn't, and with existing memory problems... He wasn't going to pry, though. It wasn't his place. Instead, he waited. He didn't worry about making sure his breathing was quiet. A lot of people found the sound of steady breathing to be calming. He hoped that would be the case.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually, he heard a voice, quiet and sad.

"I'm sorry Boone." He didn't think an apology was in order, but he took it as a good sign. Standing, he made his way to the desk that he knew had served as a shelter, and squat down to get a look at the figure huddled underneath.

"It happens." He answered, holding out a hand for a boost up. "Come on."

Tentatively, a small, shaking hand came out and laid in his own. He stepped back and pulled Hermes, still shaking, out from under the desk. They made their way back to the room with the bed and the two of them sat there in silence. He didn't need an explanation.

"What happened?" He frowned at the question.

"You had a night terror. Got up and started running." Silence stretched between them.

"I think that's happened before. Out there." A pause and a sigh. "I usually wear my armor and weapons on me, but I've woken up places I didn't fall asleep. Just figured I'd remembered wrong. Guess this makes more sense."

He nodded. It seemed that it was good that he had joined on this little excursion. Hermes was a good person and didn't need to die out in the Mojave because of some shit some guy had done. They fell back into silence and soon Hermes crawled back into the sleeping back and fell back asleep. This time, he laid on the bed nearby. Hopefully, if something happened again, he'd be close enough to help still.

He laid there for awhile, staring at the ceiling. He hadn't shared a bed since his wife, and that was an entirely different context. And the Courier... He was sure they were a woman, with their small frame and soft features, but he couldn't tell, and how they acted sometimes seemed at odds with it. But it would be dangerous if they ran into the Legion. Even if it was more a situation like he'd seen among some of the other soldiers [they had, after all, purposely avoided calling themselves a woman], the Legion wouldn't see it that way. And women were only ever slaves.

He didn't want to have to do it again if Hermes got caught instead of killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping people don't mind, but I like some science stuff and might share some of the stuff I put into some chapters.  
> So. If you wanna skip, I'm putting them at the very end!  
> I'm using the term Night Terrors for these because they fit the closest to what's going on. Triggers for them are known [stress, sleep deprivation, drug use, lights & noises, etc], but the root causes seem to be mostly genetic. They're not often directly associated with brain damage, except for damage to the thalamus, which includes the hippocampus. Which is in charge of memories and emotions. Night terrors are closer to seizures than they are to nightmares, and a lot of people don't actually remember any sort of dream. Just fear. Sometimes pain if you injure yourself, especially since sleepwalking is common.


	4. One May Smile, and Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morality isn't black and white, and sometimes it's hard to be friends with people who think it is. Especially when they don't want to get close to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes: Nudity

 

 

"How did we get so off course?" Veronica asked, looking around at the barren landscape, frowning. It wasn't like she never got lost traveling on her own, but this was a bit extreme.

 She knew the answer, of course. Hermes had insisted on leaving the road to try to get to New Vegas faster, following the Pip-Boy's map. And they'd run right into a group of cazadors and had had to run and shoot to avoid getting poisoned. She had been the only one to stay up and close, and she was glad that the armour she wore under her robes had worked and kept the stingers from poisoning her. 

 "I wasn't accounting for those... _Things_." The words came out as a grumble, then the Courier shuddered. They'd actually screamed at the sight of one.

 "Do you not remember Cazadors?" She asked with a frown. A shrug was the only response she got. 

 "But hey, there's something I wanna check out over here anyway, so whatever." Hermes was looking at the Pip-Boy's map before starting to walk to the North East, face illuminated in the dim light. 

 "Should we wait for Boone?" She asked, looking back, straining to see if she could spot their sniper friend. She didn't have as good of sight as the other two seemed to, so she wasn't quite sure how far back he was.

 "I'm sure he'll be able to find us." The Courier paused to look back in the distance and nodded at the assertion. Veronica sighed, defeated, and followed.

 "Alright, what did you want to check out?"

 Hermes led the way around a cropping of rocks and down towards the water of Lake New Vegas, grinning the entire time.

 "Fuck yea." There was no hesitation before clothes were flying and before her stood someone she had barely met, completely naked. She blinked at the sight and blushed furiously as the naked figure moved into the water at an outcropping near the shore, practically hidden from view. Except where she was standing. She hadn't been able to tell before, with all the clothing, but Hermes' body was... Soft, feminine, with wide hips and perfect breasts and-- Gorgeous. She had been thinking that Hermes was just a guy. Young, maybe. Apparently, she was wrong. They'd insisted on not being called one, after all.

 Now the question was, did Hermes now that Veronica was gay? If so, was this an attempt to seduce her? And Boone was going to be catching up with them soon. She decided to voice the next question that came to mind.

 "What are you doing?" She asked, her voice a little strained.

 "I am covered in Cazador goo and blood and dust and sweat. I'm getting clean." As if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

 "In Lake New Vegas?" Hermes shrugged, unperturbed, continuing with washing. Their nonchalant attitude towards nearly everything so far confused her.

 That, of course, was when Boone's voice came calling out from behind the outcropping. He sounded slightly worried at their disappearance.

 "Where did you two go?" 

 "We're down here!" Hermes called out, not even caring.

 Boone came around the corner and froze, just like Veronica had, eyes wide before he turned his back, facing away from the two of them. Maybe she should have done that. 

 "What are you doing?" He snapped at them, crossing his arms over his chest. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he almost looked like he was flushed with embarrassment. It made Veronica wonder if this was his first time seeing the Courier naked as well. They usually did dress very modestly, clothing covering nearly every inch of them. 

 "Getting clean. I'm tired of being gross." Hermes sighed, ducking into the water to rinse some of the dirt of the day off. "Dirt baths only do so much. I'm probably gonna wash some clothes too."

 "Camp Golf is right by here. We can go there and you can get a proper bath instead of wandering into the fucking lake." Boone was annoyed, that much was obvious with how snappish he was being. It probably didn't help that the lake technically belonged to the NCR.

 "Why? I'm already here, I'm already naked, I'm--" They were starting to get snappy with him and Veronica had to wonder how often the two argued. 

 She was new enough to the group that she honestly had no idea what was normal between them. They already made an odd enough pair - an NCR 1st Recon sniper and a Courier who'd come out of the grave. She'd made it even stranger too. A queer Brotherhood scribe that was already the black sheep at home. 

 "Vulnerable. You have no idea if someone else is after you. And the Legion--" He started, but when he trailed off, Hermes didn't hesitate to fill the silence.

 "Fine. I'll get dressed and we'll go to Camp Golf."

* * *

 

"I still don't know why you felt the need to jump into the lake. Naked." Veronica muttered to me. Was that... Embarrassment in her voice? I couldn't be sure, but it amused me and I just gave her a wicked grin in response. 

 "What? Are you going to complain about the view?" I teased, leaning in close. 

 "You wish." She snorted out, putting a hand to my face and pushing me away. I laughed, letting myself be pushed, but I noted the blush that tinted her cheeks and I had to wonder. I'd seen the way she'd been watching me when I'd bathed. "It's Boone that's not complaining, right?"

 I glanced over my shoulder at the Sniper and he just harrumphed at us. I knew he wouldn't reply, even if it was true. A flush had covered his cheeks as well when he'd found me standing there naked in the water. But that was probably more annoyance at me for doing such a thing. Technically, the Lake was being occupied by NCR, after all.

 I still thought that was ridiculous, but arguing with him on it hadn't lasted long. He was too stubborn and resorted to silence when I tried to continue the conversation. It was one of the most frustrating things about him, how quick he just went silent. He was a hard man to get close to.

 He pulled in front of us as we approached Camp Golf, his red beret drawing a smile from the guard at the entrance, giving us a wave and coming down to meet us.

 "Boone! It's been ages." The soldier greeted, shaking hangs with the sniper before turning to us. His eyes lingered on Veronica's Powerfist for a moment before falling upon my wet hair, hanging down my shoulders. "What happened to her?"

 "I fell in the lake." I answered, keeping my face as innocent as possible, ignoring the 'her' he'd used. 

 "Then why are your clothes still dry?" He was teasing me now, I could tell, a smile tugging at his lips. I glanced at Boone, and his face was the same tight expression, and I couldn't tell if it was annoyance or amusement in the tight line to his lips with his sunglasses on. I hated how hard he was to read.

 "Specifically, I fell into the lake naked," I answered, giving him a wide grin. He laughed at that but waved towards the Camp.

 "Go on in." He didn't ask any more questions about it.

 We passed by the tents where the grunts seemed to be holed up. I could see their shapes in the dying light from this distance, quite a few of them seemed to be gathered around a fire to one side. I could hear the edges of a bawdy tale, but the rest of the group didn't seem to be too interested. There wasn't that easy camaraderie that I usually associated with soldiers.

 I didn't stop to investigate because we went right towards the building that apparently held the Rangers. I barely glanced back at the grunts one more time before we came up the steps to the front and I saw one of the illustrious Rangers in person. Wearing a red-eyed helmet and a dark billowing coat, rifle strapped across their back. I grabbed Boone's arm, stopping abruptly and pointing. I probably looked ridiculous, but fuck if I cared.

 "Boone. Boone." He looked down at me when I pointed, following the line of my finger until he spotted what I was talking about.

 "You're like a fucking child, Hermes." He said, amusement tinting his voice. "Veteran Ranger, if you were wondering rank."

 "The _**coat** _ Boone. How do I get one?" I looked up at him, latching onto his arm with my other hand, pouting up at him. He had to know. Former NCR army and all. The hint of a smile faded from his face and instead he was frowning.

 "You have to be a Veteran Ranger to get one." My pout deepened, and I tugged on his arm again.

 I glanced over at Veronica, and she was covering her mouth, quite clearly trying not to laugh. I scowled, but my heart wasn't into it. I wasn't actually mad. I just really wanted that damn coat. The jacket I was wearing right then had already been worn down when I got it, and as we'd traveled, it had worn through quick. Between sleeping in it while traveling, the bullet holes, the damage from the venom of the scorpions and the cazadors, and everything else I'd run into so far. It wasn't going to last much longer. He sighed and started walking again, practically dragging me when I didn't let go of his arm.

 " _ **Boone**_ , you have to help me get one," I whined, still grinning at him through it, not letting him go as I walked with him. "I _need_ it. You even said I need to find something to keep the Legion from--"

 This time I could feel him glare at me for my comment and my teeth clicked with how quickly I cut myself off. I'd been told, repeatedly, how terrible the Legion was to anyone who didn't fall under their definition of a man. His wife had been sold off as a slave. I knew these things. I knew it was a touchy subject with him and I'd poked the bear. So to speak. [I had to resist snorting at the unintentional pun. He wouldn't appreciate it at all.] It had been a cheap shot to bring that up. 

 He ushered us into the building, holding the door open for both of us and I noted that there were more Rangers inside. Veterans and the 'usual' kind. [They weren't dressed as nice.] My mind returned to my earlier thought, the guilt melting away. I needed that coat. It was _amazing_. I was going to ask one of them what I could do to get one. [What could I say, I liked layers.] One of them was going to part with theirs. One way or another.

 He shrugged off my grip on his arm and left to the side, leaving us behind him, as we exchanged slightly confused looks. I shrugged at her in response and tied my hair back, replacing my hood over my hair. I still didn't know enough about the man who'd come with me to feel comfortable being so exposed to people I didn't know. He wasn't really here protecting me, after all. I turned to look around, examining the layout of the entrance to the building and its decor.

 They'd said it used to be a ritzy Old Hotel before the war, and you could still see the trappings of it. The wallpaper was peeling and yellowed with age, but the designs in it were intricate and sophisticated. The wood railings of the staircase were solid and clearly would be back to their original beauty if they were cleaned up a bit.

 However, what amused me were the posters just inside the door. Specifically, the very familiar face staring back at me. The dog hood looked less like a joke in person, but the propaganda was just silly if you asked me. ' _When you steal NCR equipment, tools, and personal property... You are his bitch!'_  It read. [Is that all it took? Good to know.]

 I turned back to Ronnie [I don't quite know why I started calling her that, but she hadn't complained] to find her no longer standing there alone. We must have been too obvious about not belonging here because a man had walked over and was talking to her. I frowned and watched for a second. He was clearly hitting on her. She didn't look upset by him or anything, but something about him rubbed me wrong. He was standing too close to her. I stepped towards them, putting myself between the two and placing a hand on Veronica's shoulder, giving her a grin.

 "Who's the new friend?" I asked before looking over to great the man personally. He'd faltered at my sudden appearance but quickly recovered, holding out his hand. He was tall and lean, short black hair and a calculating look in his brown eyes.

 "Ranger Daniels. Just chatting with your pretty friend here." Out of politeness, I accepted the handshake, giving it a firm squeeze. It felt like a masculine power move, but I didn't care. He returned the firm grip without any note that was what he'd intended.

 "Hermes." Was my answer. He seemed relaxed, friendly.  But something still bothered me about him as I noted the way he seemed to be sizing me up as much as I was him. I let a smile ease over my face and slid my hand to her lower back and said my next words in practically a purr. "She _is_ pretty, isn't she?"

 He narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to speak, when Boone appeared behind him, his mere presence large and imposing, making the man look back at him. He nodded at the taller man but didn't say anything else, leaving in silence. Boone followed his progress as much as I did but whatever he was thinking, he didn't say.

 "Talked to the Chief. We can stay here for the night. Two if we help him out with the Misfits in the morning." He jammed his thumb towards the front door. Did he mean the soldiers in the tents? I wondered if that was an official title or just a mocking one.

 I didn't ask. 

 "Sounds good."

 

* * *

 

It was the second morning when they set out to leave Camp Golf, having done their best to help out the Misfits. Some camaraderie, but mostly more training. Boone could only hope that it helped them stay alive. Or at least not get each other killed. 

He let Hermes lead the way until they left the Camp. They'd all shared one room: Two bunks and a couch. He'd let them take the bunks and he'd heard the Courier sneak out of the room in the middle of the night. He meant to ask them about it, but they ended up waking up before him. He'd found them downstairs with a cup of old coffee, chatting up some Veteran Rangers with bags under their eyes. 

They'd smiled tiredly at him and he knew better to ask. They'd both waited for Veronica to wake up before heading out for the day. One thing that surprised him about the Courier was that they didn't complain about the lack of sleep and didn't seem to slow. It made him wonder if maybe these weren't new developments since the shots.

That maybe they'd been the sort to lose sleep even before they'd lost their memories. He didn't coddle them for it though. Or at least tried not to. It was hard not to sometimes. It didn't help that the shotgun they carried was clearly not their preferred weapon, and they weren't entirely familiar with it, but they'd yet to find anything. He wondered if they'd even known much beyond the basics of how to fight and shoot before. But mostly they acted like a child so often, whether it be hurt and lost, or way more excited than they needed to, that he couldn't help but feel a bit protective of them. 

Their dip in the river had proved that they weren't a child though, but it had given him another reason to worry. 

They traveled the day and he kept at a distance, keeping his rifle ready in case they came across any trouble, watching the two of them chat and laugh in front of him. He kept them within sight, but stayed far enough away that he couldn't make out what they were saying to each other most of the time, but sometimes they'd both look back to check if he was still there. 

It wasn't until near dark that they stopped at the Grub and Gulp. The two of them were already sitting around the fire, talking when he came up. 

"We got you some food, Boone!" Hermes called out, holding up a make-shift plate with a slab of what looked like Gecko Meat on it. He took it with a nod, sitting down next to them, leaning his rifle against the rock next to where he sat. Well within reach. 

"You know you can walk closer to us, Boone." They said between bites, frowning over at him, almost looking genuinely concerned.

"Would almost think you were afraid of us with how far you stay back, big guy." Veronica was more teasing about it. A trait he'd noticed in the scribe early on into joining them. He still wasn't sure about her. The NCR and the Brotherhood didn't have the best relationship. But she wasn't Legion, and that was what really mattered.

"I do best at a distance." Was his gruff reply as he ate, not bothering to give any more explanation to it.

This gave Hermes pause and the smaller figure considered him quietly for a long time before letting out a sigh.

"I guess you do." Hermes considered him for a long time again but didn't say any more on the matter. Instead, they busied with the fire, adding another log to it.

"Hey! It's going to get too warm if you keep doing that." Veronica said, scooting back in her seat to avoid the sudden burst of heat. Hermes frowned, leaning back with their arms crossed, looking petulant. 

"Sorry. I'm still feeling cold, I guess. Winter's coming on. Nights are getting colder." Hermes admitted, then shrugged, digging into their pack for something.

That reminded Boone, and he leaned to the side, reaching into his bag. He pulled out the thick fabric and stood, crossing the short distance to the Courier, holding it out in silence. They sat up straight in surprise, a bundle of fabric of their own pulled half-way out of their bag. When they took it, he stepped back and returned to his seat as they unfolded it and held it up. 

"What is--?" They started, but paused and let out an small squeal when it was clear what it was. "Oh my God, thank you Boone! It has a hood and everything too!"

"I found it at Camp Golf. Said you needed some more cover." His words were clipped, said in his usual flat tone, but he was trying to downplay the gift. He'd had to haggle with one of the Misfits to get the Poncho, but he didn't want to worry about what might happen if--

He paused in his thoughts when he saw the Courier pull on a long black coat, the Poncho on their knees, smiling widely. That was a Veteran Ranger's coat that they pulled on. With the insignia on the shoulder cut off and without the attachments for the helmet.

"Where did you get the Ranger's coat?" He was scowling, and they paused as they begun to slip their arms into the poncho and gave him what must have been intended to be an innocent look.

"Just gotta know who to talk to." The answer was vague enough that it made him wonder. But he didn't want to know. Either they'd stolen it, slept with someone to get it, or bartered off something they shouldn't have. Veteran Rangers did not give up their coats. He took off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with a frustrated sigh.

When he opened his eyes again to look at them, Hermes was standing there with both the Ranger's Coat and the Poncho on, the hood worn up.

 "How do I look?" They asked, a reckless smile on their face.

 "Stylish, but keeping 'em guessing. I like it." Veronica's voice matched the playfulness in the Courier's. It was clear that she didn't have any issues with the likely theft.

 "Looks good." Boone nodded, arms still crossed and looking slightly annoyed. "Just don't steal anything next time."

 "Awww. Ruin my fun. And here I wanted to a bitch." Hermes teased. He was sure it was a reference to the NCR posters they had everywhere. The Courier had even met the bastard when he burned down Nipton, and this was their response? Again he just groaned in annoyance. 

 "I'm going to sleep." He huffed, pulling out his sleeping bag and setting it up behind him on one of the cots the owners of the rest stop had laid out.

 "Alright. Thank you Boone." Hermes voice actually sounded happy for once. It made him feel better about the fact that they'd probably stolen the coat. They were happy. And more importantly, they were more protected and concealed. And that was important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boone isn't one of my favourite characters, but I gotta feel for the guy. I get why he is the way he is.  
> Also, Hermes mentioned dirt baths, and so fun fact: Dirt/dust/mud baths are actually ways to get clean when you have limited access to water. It's just what you think. Use the dirt to soak up all the oils and stuff, and then scrape it off. You can also use mud [including using mud to clean your hair].'Smoking' yourself or your clothes is another way to 'clean up' because it's anti-bacterial.  
> I imagine both methods would be fairly popular in the Mojave where there's way less access to running water.


	5. That Way Madness Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting into the Strip brings up its own issues, not the least of which being all of the emotions fighting to be in charge. Some medicine might help that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes: Drug Use

"We're only about... 700 caps short." Veronica offered, giving me a placating smile. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. Why hadn't we known there would be such a high 'credit check' to get into the God damn Strip. There had to be places where we could find some work. Get some more caps and everything. 

Ever since we'd arrived in New Vegas it had been shit. We had to rent one room for the three of us at the Atomic Wrangler before heading out.  We'd run into three groups of thugs from the time we'd entered the area, gotten into the hotel room, and gone to the gates to the Strip the next day. I hadn't been able to sleep very well the night before. [  Apparently  waking up both of them in the process, though neither actually complained about it.]

And now we had to earn some more God Damn caps.  

"Alright, what are our options around here?" I asked through my gritted teeth, trying not to let my frustration show in my voice. I knew I was failing though. "Besides waiting for enough thugs to through themselves at us to get us the amount we need from their shit, that is."

"We could always see what the businesses here have for work. They usually have something that needs doing." She was trying to be helpful, I knew she was, but it annoyed me more. Why did people keep wanting me to help them? Were they all that useless that no one could fucking help themselves? 

"Camp McCarren is nearby too." Boone suggested. I hummed  lightly  at his words. He always suggested helping the NCR. Or killing Legion  directly. 

"Ok. Let's see what bites." I told them and began walking without further context.

The Kings, with their ridiculous 'School of Impersonation' were first. I wasn't even sure what it meant in context of whatever the fuck they did. I  barely  glanced at the men outside before pushing open the doors. Boone got a few dirty looks. Not aggressive, but more apprehensive. I didn't spend any time finding out why though. He was a big boy and could take care of himself if that shit mattered. 

I glanced around the entrance room.  There were a few more of them sitting around and talking, and I picked one of them out and walked up, smiling as kindly as I could through my annoyance.

"Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be the King. He's in the other room. Can't miss 'im. " He told me and motioned towards one of the doors. God, that fucking accent was stupid. It didn't seem like it was actually real. I nodded at him though and went to the aforementioned door, yet another of the men stopped us when we approached. He held himself with a bit more authority than the others. And tried to get money out of us.

 It was damn hard not to punch the guy in his God Damn mouth, but I kept that smile on my face, said some pretty nice bullshit about paying my respects and he let us on through. Luckily, 'The King' did have some stuff for us to do. And it would have been enough money to get us through. If my shotgun hadn't broken doing the fucking tasks he wanted. And so, we had to buy new gear and most of that money was out the window. 

 We went back to the Atomic Wrangler for the end of the night and I left the two of them there. I said that I needed a walk, and snuck out before they could ask. [I mean, I did,  really  .] I went to walk around fucking Freeside. Somehow, somehow, I  wasn't bothered by any thugs when I was walking around by myself.  Maybe  it was Boone and his god damn beret that caught their attention. Freeside didn't seem to like NCR. 

 I was seething, and I had to walk it out.  After  all of  the wandering through the God Damn Mojave out of my fucking grave and I'm stopped by some Securitrons because I don't have the money. I'm here to fucking kill a man, not fucking gamble and--

 "It's late to be wandering outside unarmed, you know." A voice trickled in from beside me and I snapped my head to look at the figure. 

   Just  out of arm's reach, there stood a slim form, short and feminine with a halo of black curls and a friendly smile. I couldn't help but return it as I studied the stranger. 

 "Not all weapons are obvious, you know." I countered, falling into an easy step as we walked. "Hermes, by the way." 

 "I suppose. Though a girl like me has to keep one visible." She motioned towards the rifle at her back, making a stark contrast to the thin clothes covering her. Then she paused a beat before she introduced herself. "Letty."

 "What are you doing out so late, then?" The question was simple, but she didn't answer for a long time and I looked over at her. She was staring in the direction of the Strip, the neon lights glaring  brightly. Too bright for me, the sight of them making me wince.  I could feel a headache starting to form behind my eyes, but I kept looking at those  annoyingly  bright lights, waiting for her to speak.

"It's the only time I get to myself."  She gave her answer, frowning when she finally replied. "Spend the day taking care of dumbass men." 

 I snorted at that. Sounded like that was how things were around here on the Strip.  So, I spent time talking to her, ending up on the top floor of one of the ruined buildings in Freeside, leaning against the wall  . She handed me some Jet and we shared, watching everything move  achingly  slow around us. 

 Of course, things started getting a little bit fuzzy from there. We  maybe  took more hits than we should've. I was spending too much time flirting with her. But my anger had faded away with the next hit of Jet. And she was dancing. 

* * *

Of all the things Arcade had been expecting when he'd woken up that morning, seeing that start of a bad joke was not one of them . A Courier, a Brotherhood Scribe, and an NCR 1st Recon walked into the Old Mormon Fort. He wasn't sure what to make of it. 

He'd heard they'd stopped by  just  past dawn and offered to help with some tasks that Julie needed. This was his first time actually seeing them and boy he wasn't sure what he had been imagining. The Scribe and the NCR 1st Recon looked typical, but the Courier at their lead did not. Not that there was  really  a typical look to the job of a courier as far as he was aware, but they  just  didn't look like they fit. The title, the deeds, or with the other two.

Despite the heat, he counted at least three layers of clothing.  All of  it loose, which was smart at least. But they were so covered up that it made it hard to tell anything about them, with even their head covered with a hood. They turned in his direction, talking to Julie with a smile.  When he caught a look at their face, it struck him how they young they looked to be the Courier everyone was talking about. Who the hell would shoot this kid?

It was something that he couldn't help but wonder when passed by the group, ducking back into his tent to continue trying to do some research.  Maybe  he  really  shouldn't have  been surprised  when the kid walked in, stepping up behind him. When it was clear that they were trying to look over his shoulder, he turned  abruptly. 

"Hi. If you're looking for medical help, try one of the other doctors. I'm just a researcher. Not even a particularly good one at that." He wasn't quite being rude. The Courier seemed unaffected by his tone,  however, a smile on their face.

"Why research instead of healing like the other Docs in here?" The question itself was innocent enough, so he  just  shrugged before he answered. It wasn't exactly the first time someone had asked him that. 

"Not all Followers are "people persons". Besides. someone needs to do research. I have no problems with Julie sticking me back here. Out of sight, out of mind. There are worse things one can be, though I do admit, it is a bit boring." 

 The young Courier kept up the line of questioning, asking about his work, about the Followers, even about Caesar when he spoke in Latin.  They even seemed to like his self-deprecating humour, adding in some of their own in the conversation  . It was already more interesting than he'd been expecting.  But he was beginning to wonder why they were so interested in him when they cut him off  abruptly  , his sentence unfinished .

 "I like you." He blinked at the words, confused for a moment before they explained. This time their grin was wide and confident. "Wanna join up with me?"

 "What would you need a researcher for, kid?" Arcade asked, looking down at them as they pulled sunglasses out of a pocket and put them on their face. 

 "Well, more I need your medical knowledge than research, but..." There was a pause and a frown, as if they had  just  then realized that he hadn't actually agreed to go with them anywhere. "I got shot in the head twice about a month ago and I still don't remember shit. Would be nice to have someone who knew their way around a Doctor's Bag."

 This sent a jolt of guilt through him. Yes, he'd heard that about the Courier.  Julie had mentioned how fascinating it was that they remembered getting shot, but nothing before that  .  Anterograde amnesia was a far more common side-effect with traumatic brain injuries than the retrograde amnesia they were showing . And the fact that they remembered the traumatic event that caused the brain damage rather than that being the central missing piece...

 The amnesia was  certainly  an anomaly and that on its own made him curious, despite that he wasn't a neuroscientist, but it also made him concerned . What if the shot had manifested in other atypical side-effects? Ones that were actually damaging. 

 The Courier, from what he'd  been told by  the rest of the Followers who had interacted with them so far, had been doing a lot of good for Freeside. Julie was already praising them after  just  a few favours. A kid like that, capable of and willing to help out Freeside after getting shot in the head? He'd kick himself if something bad happened to them. 

 "You've been helping out around here, and Julie likes you. So, as long as you keep working to help people get a fair shake, sure, I'll lend a hand."

 "Great! We were gonna head back to the Atomic Wrangler to go over some stuff, why don't you join us?" The Courier's grin was wide again as they ducked out of his tent. With a sigh, he followed, joining the rest of the group and listening as he  was introduced . It was even weirder to see the group up close and wonder why they were all traveling together. 

 But he was one of them now too, so he  really  couldn't say much without answering how he'd gotten roped into it. 

 "Ok, but I thought you were going to see someone about what happened last night?" The Scribe asked, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a pause, and the Courier looked very confused. When they didn't say anything, she sighed and explained, this time turning to Arcade. "Hermes here got high with someone last night and doesn't remember any of it. I've heard that's not a usual side effect of Jet."

 "Oh!" The Courier, Hermes, said  suddenly  as if remembering. They turned towards him as well. "Yea. With Letty. She was cute. Don't think I've done Jet before. At least not since I've woken up."

 "Honestly, it could go either way, depending on how much you took. And other symptoms, have you had an--" He started to ask more, but Hermes had begun to shift  uncomfortably . His words trailed off a bit.

 The 1st Recon, Boone, reached out and touched their shoulder  lightly  to get their attention. Or give reassurance. Arcade couldn't quite tell, and the Courier speaking upended that train of thought.

 "We can... Talk about that stuff another time. I'd... Rather see what we gotta do next."  Judging from how they avoided looking at him, there were definitely other symptoms going on . 

  "Yea. Sure. Lead the way."

 

* * *

 This was the part I didn't like. I was anxious. Not  just  in the way that you  were worried  and needed things to go right. But my chest was tight, and I had to concentrate on breathing  normally , resting my head on the table. I needed a drink before everyone came downstairs to ask me about the plan.

 Somehow, I had  been put  in charge of this little group, and they looked to me on what to do next. Which was crazy. It was stupid. I didn't remember anything from before  being shot . 

 Why would anyone follow me? 

 At least they weren't mindless about it. Boone was quiet but gave advice with shooting and combat.  Veronica helped with general information, and some crafting: both things she'd learned from the Brotherhood . Arcade was new, but he'd be helpful with medicine and science: shit I didn't have much knowledge of at all. 

 But they all seemed so much more capable. I was  just  a Courier looking for the guy who shot me. I didn't even know what I was going to do about him when I found him though, much less what I'd do afterward. The whole thing was a mess of emotions and I-- I had to breathe to calm myself down. 

 A glass was set down in front of me with a clink and I jumped, looking up at one of the waitresses, confused. I hadn't ordered anything. She smiled at me and motioned towards a table nearby. Two men sat there. One raised his own glass towards me in salute, smiling. He looked familiar. Ranger Daniels, from Camp Golf. I didn't recognize the other. 

 I stared at him for a moment, considering what I should do. He watched me in return and then gestured and I sighed, walking over to their table.

 "How's your pretty friend doing?" He asked, grinning at me. The smile I returned was sharp. 

 "Sleeping things off in my bed." It wasn't a lie. The implication I was presenting  just  wasn't the truth.

 He laughed, pulling the chair out next to him, motioning for me to sit. I obliged, sending a glance towards his companion. Who looked  strangely  familiar.  Perhaps  I knew him from before. I opened my mouth to say something when Daniel spoke again, my attention snapping back to him.

 "She your girl, then?" He asked as I sat. That one took me a moment. And I decided to answer with another partial truth.

 "Wouldn't go that far  just  yet, but yea." I answered. And before he could ask more about Ronnie, "You two here on leave or somethin'?"

 "I am, but not my friend here." His smile still put my hairs on end, and he nodded. I looked at his friend, who was sitting there,  quietly  drinking a beer. "He's here to gamble." 

 "Getting into the Strip later?" I asked, taking a sip of the shitty beer that Daniels had ordered me. I made a point not to wince, but it tasted  absolutely  terrible. He nodded, and Daniels spoke for him instead.

 "Yea, we're gonna hit up the Tops first,  probably ." He paused and looked at his friend. "Or should we do Gomorrah?"

 His friend only shrugged in response, taking another sip of his beer. It was bothering me that he wasn't talking. I chewed on my lip, studying him. Dark hair, sharp features, blue eyes.  Maybe  someone I'd known before I'd woken up. But he showed no sign of recognizing me. Which that option bothered me even more. Would I actually be able to recognize someone from my past?

 I took another swig of my shit beer and realized that I'd  partially  tuned out Daniels while thinking. His friend was looking at me  expectantly  and I heard my name. I turned back to him and gave an apologetic grin. "Sorry. Not enough beer yet  apparently , I'm still thinking too much."

 "Finish that one and I'll get you something harder then!" He was laughing, already very  obviously  on his own way to drunk. 

 That was not something I wanted to do,  however  .  It had been a nice distraction, but I needed to be sober enough to think straight when discussing plans with the others . My anxiety started spiking again, I could feel my throat constricting. I took a big gulp of beer as I thought of how to escape the situation.

"Hermes." That voice was familiar. I jerked my head to the sound of my name. 

Boone. My saviour. [Thank God.] I nodded at him and turned back to the two men at the table. With a smile, I stood and pushed away from my seat. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course." The unnamed friend finally spoke, and his voice sent a shot straight through me.  Daniels also said something, but I didn't  really  hear him over my determination not to make it obvious I was fleeing . 

That voice was familiar. I still couldn't place him, but God, that voice. 

I moved to the far table where my companions [were they my friends yet?] sat, my beer clutched in my hand. A churning in my stomach greeted me and I smiled at them as I sat down.  I paused, took another gulp of the shitty beer [  seriously  had someone pissed in it or something?] and looked at all three of them before I spoke .

"Okay, it looks like we have the caps to get into the Strip now." I started, then stopped. I could hear the shake in my voice. I took a deep breath. They've been here with me so far, might as well be honest. "I don't know if I should head straight to the Tops to find the fucker or not."

There was silence and it tore at me, but Boone was the one to speak first. 

"Scouting first would be best." He said. No further explanation and it wasn't even  entirely  needed. I knew what he meant. 

"Okay. Hit up the rest of the Strip, then. And go from there." I clarified. More for myself than for any of them. I nodded. This was going to be easy. Right.

"What are you planning on doing when you find this guy'?" The question came from Arcade and I looked at him.

 I had to push down the immediate swell of rage that came from the thought of the guy who'd shot me. I wasn't sure if my anger and hatred came  just  from the fact that he tried to kill me. Or if it was because I had lost all my memories from the whole ordeal. I frowned, staring at my hands to consider it. I sat there for a moment before I answered him.

 "I don't know. I want answers more than I want revenge, though." I answered. It was true. I wanted him dead, but I wanted my answers more. I needed them. I sighed and rested my head back onto the table. 

 "Are we gonna go while the lights are still on?" Veronica asked, changing the tone of the conversation. She'd said it before, that she wanted to see the Strip with the lights still bright. I turned my head to look at her without lifting my head and I grinned at her against the wood.

 "Fuck yeah we are." I told her. She smiled back at me. I lifted my head onto my palm and looked at her. That smile was wonderful. "Dunno if the lights are gonna outshine your smile, though."

 Her cheeks turned bright red and she turned away, mumbling something akin to 'shut up'. I chuckled and then looked at the other two.  Arcade was  just  raising an eyebrow,  slightly  amused, while Boone looked impassive as usual .

 "With that, should we head out now?" I asked. The two men shrugged, and Ronnie  just  continued to smile at me. 

 We all had another drink [Boone finished the shit beer for me, luckily], chatting  absently  . I know I spoke with them, but I  barely  retained any of it. My anxiety was still high, my mind still going over all the possibilities. Boone was the one who paid for my drinks, though, clapping on my shoulder as we all went to get our things.  That was another thing that I ended up kind of moving  automatically  through. 

 I packed my bag, strapped on all my weapons, and wound my scarf around my head, covering my hair [I'd cover my face when we actually got onto the Strip  .  Just  in case.] The others were waiting of the Atom Wrangler and this time I managed to keep my expression neutral. Boone clapped me on the shoulder, though.  Maybe  he could tell. [He was someone who knew the  carefully  trained neutrality.]

 Now we  just  had to cross through the gates and get into the Strip. Then I could find the fucker who shot me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit of a hand wave on it. The main meat of everything starts from now on, though. I've dropped some hints on some things.  
> I don't know if this switching POV is weird for you guys. I don't usually do it, but there is a scene later on that needs it.  
> No long science fun fact except what's mentioned in Arcade's part. Typically, with a brain injury, if the patient develops amnesia, they have trouble forming any new memories, while remembering their past perfectly. There are also other side-effects that may show up later.


End file.
